Anon
by koodsman
Summary: 'The extremity who goes by no title must return for there to be...' AU, Post-Canon. What gets you out of bed?
1. Preface

"Killua…stop."

His face is listless, unresponsive, cold. I glare into his stone-hard eyes. "I'm doing what we were all thinking."

"Shut the hell up or you'll lose more blood-"

"Get the fuck away-!"

"SHUT UP!" He slaps me across the cheek, and the impact stings like hell. Warm liquid trickles further down my chin. "Shut up. And let me take you out of here," he huffs. "No protests."

"Like hell!"

I send my foot flying, connecting with his jaw to let out a resounding crack, and it sends him flying to the other side of the room. Breathing heavily, I whip out my gun and with a shaky arm, I point it to the side of my head.

"What do you think you're doing," he growls lowly. He had recovered in a split second and started to stalk slowly towards me. "Put it down."

"I want you…to save Gon," I say, losing air.

"Put, it down."

I take a huge breath in. The gun's head rests near my cerebral. I'm not fearful at this moment. I'm not afraid to take my own life. This is what's right.

He continues to walk forward and I stare listlessly.

"Stop where you are…or I pull the trigger."

He immediately stops and his eyes flash intensely. He bites his teeth into a snarl, and he clenches his fists until the veins show. " _Anon!"_ He barks. The ceiling shifts slightly and pieces of rubble and dust come fluttering down around him. Shafts of light shoot down in random spots, and I'm reminded of an eerie scene. With weak effort, I smile, and it makes him even more enraged. "I swear, if you pull that trigger, I will _KILL YOU!"_

I feel myself slumping further and further down the wall, with the gun still in place. But my arm is giving way, moving it closer to my ear, and before I'd know it, it'd be by my neck. I have to hurry.

"You know…what the fortune said. _'The extremity who goes by no title must return for there to be "_"_ .' I know… what it says." He stops quivering and stares at me in shock. He didn't think I would know, and for a moment, I felt guilt. Why does he look at me in betrayal? But satisfaction fills me. He's stopped.

"Go save him." I give him the faintest smile, thinking of what he deserves, and what I deserve. I begin to close my eyes. He rushes forward, an arm outstretched towards my head.

" _STOP!"_

The trigger is pulled.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Silence was a constant companion in the headquarters. No other sound could be heard but her own soft steps as she walked down the hallway of steel, her footsteps audible, but barely. Cells were built in on either side of the hallway, each installed every so meters apart. No one could look inside the cells or vice versa; they were only plain, bulky doors served for the sole purpose of keeping the prisoners locked in. Offices, however, did have a small slit of glass welded into their steel doors. She walked past the fifty or so cells and took the elevator down to the last floor, ignoring these windows, walking past them staring straight ahead, her eyes rarely blinking, her mind hanging on her one destination.

From a mile away, she could see this door at the end of the hallway because of familiarity and the intense lights built into the ceiling. The door was labeled 'Sir'.

She reaches the door, and silently enters a small room, its interior the same steel as that of the hallway. She was careful to close the thick piece of metal behind her, never breaking precious eye contact with the man sitting behind the desk in front of her.

"Anon," he says. His voice was as deep as the pits of hell, and no other voice reminded her of such a place.

"Sir."

"Take a seat. It won't be long."

.

He was a hefty man, widely built just as astonishingly towering and had a very weathered complexion as though he'd been through the world's harshest deserts and back three times. He had a peculiar, almost square patch of black facial hair that lied just beneath his nose which fanned out, ending at the corners of his mouth, and the color of his hair was a smoked, dirty blonde. He seemed huge compared to his office; a tiny space including only a sturdy working desk, a computer, and an ancient seat, not including her miserable excuse of a chair. The simple room would have made him seem even more strict and heartless if it were not for the sole, sentimental frame sitting on the corner of his desk.

He made an obvious point to examine her face thoroughly before speaking, a ritual that came to be just recently.

"I can see that you're feeling better after that last hit. Let me tell you that you managed to complete it, but it was not your best work." He hesitates. It was the same words again, the same words as last time. She remembered. "Did you see to Doc?"

"Yes Sir."

He makes a gruff sound equal to that of approval. "I would hope that he has fixed up your line of work."

"He has, Sir."

Sir glances briefly at her hands upon each knee. The hands didn't move in the slightest, and sat still as an immobile object. In the last hundredth of a second before he looked away, he could make out the smallest cut near her wrist, which sparked the most curious of utmost satisfaction in his eyes.

"Good…" He switches his attention to a file on his desk she did not notice before, and opens it, revealing at least fifty papers. He takes up the piece of paper lying at its very top and lifts it up for her to see. There was a picture of a woman to the left and details scribbled throughout the whole page. She read it quickly before he took it away seconds later. Then he began to reinforce the details on the page for a good half hour before ending the encounter.

"I trust you will not mess up again."

.

The guests were already starting to pour in from the hotel's enchanting double doors. Chatter floated through the walls and into the pristine kitchen where the latest stoves, fridges and ovens resided. Ingredients littered the cupboards, and utensils and tools of craft from tiny basters to enormous ladles hung from the wall here and there. The chatter from out in the reception room caused the cooks, waiters, and samplers a variety of chaotic commotion and quick actions. Ingredients were haphazardly tossed into pots, food was being thrown together upon dishes in fast haste. Even a few of the samplers were already out the double doors, where they prepared themselves for the onslaught of well-dressed yet embarrassingly individuals that night. Anon blocked out the bustling atmosphere and assembled her dish in meticulous silence within a corner next to one of the head chef's stove, her head bowed in such concentration that her ponytail was coming undone. She worked slowly but with deftness.

Knowing the head chef was standing only a foot away from her and the area around her was somewhat clear, she sprinkled the raw bread dough in front of her with a sleeping powder with one hand, and the other grabbed a tiny cherry tomato to flick at one of the workstations down to her left. She used up the last of her powder as exclamations of surprise rang throughout the kitchen, and disposed of the powder's tiny pouch within her glove. She placed her rolled up miniature croissants within the steel oven and passed the hurrying janitors that just flew in to hurriedly clean up her mess of spices that had toppled onto the floor.

She grabbed a dish she prepared earlier from the table near the kitchen's exit. After her gloves were disposed of, she donned her other clean apron on. Then she adjusted the nametag upon her bosom and headed outside to greet the many guests.

Five more minutes.

Her eyes dart to a woman with radiant cerulean hair that cascaded down her back, standing in a corner by the restrooms. There are reasons why corners are avoided.

"Again, I'm so sorry for being so careless," Anon says apologetically, tears rolling down her cheek, wiping her hands on her sampler's apron. They were striding in a quick pace down the hallway towards the restrooms and her empty dish that held the croissants was being held by the woman walking beside her. "Thank you for helping me. I don't really know what came over me."

"Oh it's no problem at all! Blame it on Jean. She spilled the croissants all _over you_! This is the least I could do." She mumbled some more about her right-hand lady while they passed through the bathroom doors. No one was inside, and the stall doors remained open save for one. Anon singles out a sink and runs to it all willy-nilly, frantically washing her hands and drying them.

"Really, you should go back to the reception! I will get in so much trouble if any of the staff finds us in here like this, and I wouldn't want to trouble you with that!"

"No, no. Stop that! I told you I don't care whatsoever. I'll be sure you don't get in trouble. Trust my word." The woman yawns and immediately blushes at her rudeness, raising a hand and politely covering her mouth. "Oh, what a yawn. I didn't know I was so tired."

Anon laughs a little. "The croissants were just too tantalizing, weren't they?"

"Tell me about it! The taste was almost _dream-like._ " She yawns again, and this time she didn't seem to care about the action like before. "You guys…did an excellent job…" Her eyes were half-lidded. "What…what's happening?" She murmured. She started to fall to the side but Anon quickly steps in front of her.

"Here, let me have that, Milady." Anon takes the dish from her and extends out her other arm, smirking as the woman suddenly falls unconscious over it, and she hung there with her arms slackened, draped like a lifeless curtain. Anon grabs the dish before it slipped out of the woman's hand and drops it into the bin along with her torn off sampler's uniform. She quickly opens the closed stall with her exposed black glove. The average, unsuspecting individual would have taken this stall as merely another bathroom, but if one were to look closely to the wall to the left, there was a rather large spot of an out of place surface. Anon rips open the makeshift paper mache on the wall she made earlier and runs out into the moist, outside air along an alley with the woman over her shoulder and not bothering to close the mache behind her. The motorcycle sits there dead against the brick wall of the hotel, awaiting her patiently. With the woman draped over the backseat behind her, she revs up the motorcycle and speeds off towards the outskirts, the moonlight glinting off her skin-tight suit, but not before she feels something whiz past her ear.

She hits the gas twice as hard, looking back twice: one glance at the street and the other towards the roof tops. There was the slightest shadow of a figure. Someone was following her.

"Give back the girl or you will suffer the consequences!"

Male. Roughly twenty or so by the shadow's length and tone of voice. Nen user. A normal human being wouldn't be able to jump rooftops like that with their own two feet.

That's all she needed to know.

Dipping her head closer to the head of the 'cycle, she tried to reduce the amount of air she cut to increase velocity and she revved up her engine by violently twisting the handles. The attempts worked for a split second, letting her gain extra ground, but her pursuer continued to keep up his pace—gaining twice her ground even. At this rate…

A rattle of chains breaks her reverie and digs itself right into the asphalt, narrowly missing the butt of her motorcycle. The next hit wouldn't miss. It was time for plan two.

She curves sharply into a hidden alleyway by a large set of dumpsters, leaving skid marks and flying sparks in her wake. This alley wasn't any dead-end—she'd made sure of it beforehand when she made preparations to be the sampler at the hotel. She drove up the flight of stairs right when they came into view and went straight up to the roof. Once at the top, she kicks the engine hard, riding across the variously sloped panels of the ghetto apartments, the air slapping her face and the g-force entering her stomach each time.

The chaser was still in hot pursuit, but wasn't using his chains. A man for the better good. He probably didn't want to ruin these homes. She took this as a slight advantage and it pushed her forward, getting her closer and closer to the desired part of the outskirts. But suddenly, she felt him upon her. Why wasn't he using his chains on her instead of the buildings? She couldn't think about this now. Quickly, while keeping an eye on the roof tops, she turned back to aim her shot-gun and fired once, twice, but narrowly missing him each time. No, the gun wasn't going to work on him—he was too agile.

The next leap suddenly churned her stomach. The roofs were gone, she was in mid-air, heading towards the deserted, weed-littered field. The outskirts. She lightly took her foot of the pedal and braced herself. When she landed, she ejected herself off from the motor and somersaulted onto the ground. When she stood, she firmly held two shot-guns, aiming at his head. He was standing directly in front of her, a distance away from her ride, which was still in one piece and standing, holding the woman. His piercing eyes not once rested on her target, but on her, and her only.

"Who are you, and what is your business with this girl? Speak!" He yelled angrily. Now that he was right in front of her for her to examine, he could have easily been taken for a harmless adolescent due to his soft features. However, he clearly wasn't the ordinary citizen with the clothing he had on. Intricate, circular designs were stitched throughout the fabric.

Anon tightened her grip on the pistols and focused on his movements. What could this boy possibly have to do with her target? Her target wasn't a nen user at all, only a big figure in this city as she was informed.

Her eyes darted to the woman lying on the cycle. That's it. He had to be her bodyguard.

The chains came shooting out from under his sleeve and she swerved to her right until again, the chains came once more but from his other sleeve. She dodged left, stepping back each time but the chains kept coming as he pulled and striked, pulled and striked. He could only manipulate two chains at once. She kept thinking, how could she disable them? Was there a way? A chain made contact with her right foot, and the impact was so hard that it immediately shattered the bone that was there.

She fell to the ground, gritting her teeth from the immediate, searing pain. Quickly, she shot at the chains, but to no avail. The bullets bounced right off. His other chain came straight for her other foot but she managed at the last minute to roll away, and the chain buried itself into the ground. He pulled it out. His face was chillingly vacant, masking his anger made obvious from his revealed cheekbones. He began to walk towards her.

"I won't harm you further, but I'll turn you in to the law enforcement for attempting to take what's mine. However, I'm going to ask you again. What is your business with her," he demanded, "who sent you to take the hit?"

"Come any closer, and the next shot will be your head."

He could have heard her and chose to ignore it, or he could have ignored her completely; either way, he continued to walk forward, unfazed. The chains shifted and rattled as he came closer.

"Drop the guns, and come with me if you know what's best for you."

She remained still. She aimed both guns. Her finger went to rest on the trigger.

He shot out his other arm, the chains coming at her too fast to dodge. She took her aim again and fired but somehow, the chains danced right into them and caught the bullets right in between the hollow spaces of the links. Before she knew it, the chains from his other arm shattered into thin air, and he threw a thin thread tightly around her arms and ribcage with that same arm. She struggled to move, but it led to the discovery that her arms were wound too tightly against her.

"I'll take you by force then." He turned, beginning to drag her along, probably. But then he stopped.

There was someone else by the captive. She didn't know who it was, or how they managed to sneak behind this nen-user's back. She knew these abnormal people could somehow sense other presences around them. She stopped struggling against the twine. This was her chance to get out further unscathed.

Bullets couldn't pierce the chains, and knife blades most likely wouldn't even leave a mark. The guard was too fast—even more so now that she had a disadvantage. She could easily leave the threads though, but given he hadn't tampered with them also like his seemingly invincible chains; she had the tiny blade hidden under her sleeve she could use against these measly threads. But, she needed to plan this carefully or else she was back to square one.

"You..!" She couldn't help but hear the guard say under his breath. HIs words felt more emotionally attached and present than from when he was dealing with her. "Killua? _What do you think you're doing?"_

"Sorry, Kurapika, but I'm afraid she's going to have to die right here, in this very spot. I'll send you my condolences later though."

Anon took this moment to slide out her hidden blade from her sleeve. It seemed like the other person meant business and this guard, Kurapika, wasn't going to let him loose.

"What..?" The guard said. She rapidly worked her way through the numerous strands. She wasn't even through half of them despite how easily they tore apart.

"You realize who that is, right? You realize this is my duty? Are you out of your _damn_ mind?"

The chains slowly snaked towards home away from her as if in an eerie, submissive trance. She gets through the last bit of thread and quickly puts away the blade and struggles to her remaining foot, attempting to walk away but stumbling a few times.

"I understand completely."

Electricity buzzed in the air, and her head whirled at the unexpected phenomenon. Her eyes went straight to the glowing captive, like a moth to a licking flame. The woman shook like she was seizing.

"YOU BASTARD!"

Anon turned and crept as far as she could behind the hill, away from the sound of rattling chains and raucous voices. She couldn't get the scent of burning flesh out of her nose. The woman with cerulean hair and friendly eyes lingered in her head.

After what seemed like hours of hobbling on one foot, she finally passed through the doors of a quaint building and passed out onto the cold, wooden floor boards, her thick layer of sweat cooling down to harden and act as barrier against the cold temperatures of her enclosed home until daylight showed once more.


End file.
